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THE EPHEBIC OATH 
AND OTHER ESSAYS 





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COPYRIGHT 

BY 

ALEXANDER MCAD1E 

1912 



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TO 

M. R. B. M. 





CONTENTS 






PAGE 


The Ephebic Oath 


- 15 


Infra Nubem - 


25 


Thalassa, Thalassa! 


- 31 


The Strength of the Hills - 


41 


The Lights Outside 


- 51 


La Bocana - 


59 







PREFATORY NOTE 

The essays Infra Nubem, The Lights 
Outside and La Bocana appeared orig- 
inally in the "Propolis magazine, and 
are here reprinted by the courtesy of 
the TJbtlofoHs"prfts*. 



THEEPHEBICOATH 




THEEPHEBICOATH 




N his gently careless way, the 
Amateur Emigrant noted that in 
American cities, citizens new 
and old spurned the slow-paced 

fellow who possessed not coin of the realm ; 

and that art and song seemingly were of less 

importance than silver and gold. 




■ ' There is but one question in modern 
politics ', he says, "though it appears 
in many forms ; and that is money " 

With the exasperating sagacity of the unprac- 
tical man and dreamer, he added 



" There is but one political remedy — 
the people should grow wiser and better. * ' 

IS 



THEEPHEBICOATH 




And how? The word politics has to right- 
eous men or to those who take themselves as 
righteous, a meaning that savors of unholi- 
ness. Yet the word means "affairs of the 
city"; and to be busily engaged with the 
affairs of the city should certainly be held 
praiseworthy and honorable. The soul of a 
city — essence of the place and people — can 
never easily die. Mortals pass quickly from 
the sun lit way; but the spirit of a community 
lives on forever. Athens, city of the violet 
crown, aside from its time-touched temples 
of enduring beauty, lives in the memory of 
men because of lofty-minded sons who walked 
and talked in "olive groves of Akademe , \ 
And it is the spirit of old Rome, the strife of 
proud patrician and persistent plebeian that is 
eternal as the hills. 

16 



THEEPHEBICOATH 




Of modern cities, some have souls and 
some are soulless. Mostly they are huge 
melting pots of the nations. Our home cities 
are too often crucibles where Mede, Elamite 
and Parthian are fused in one. But the re- 
ducing heat is the flame of business zeal, not 
the fire of civic righteousness. The new 
made citizen and native born alike boast of 
tall buildings, uncouth temples to the uncouth 
god of trade. Non-essentials are exalted and 
the youth are unaware that the true grandeur 
of a city is its contribution to time's long 
roll of noble lives and inspiring deeds. 

There is a breeze-swept city by the Western 
Gate quite unlike other cities of its size and 
age. A breeze-swept city where the inani- 
mate seems to mold the animate; where skies 

17 



THEEPHEB1C0ATH 




and winds and clouds are woven into the 
texture of one's daily life. Here, fogs like 
silver threaded scarfs trail their loose ends 
upon the waters, or wind themselves like 
bridal veils around the brown and russet hills. 
The city is not a swollen macropolis. Even 
in the crowded quarters, the air sweeps pure 
and free and there is no sense of misery and 
squalor. There is time to live. The day 
may be given over to work, but sweet sleep 
comes with the night. The breeze has the 
velvet touch that only sea air knows; and in 
the cheeks of the children are blooms fresher 
than the flowers. Fortunate indeed are the 
citizens of such a city. Yet stay. Something 
is wanting. Health and the zest of living are 
not all. To the very joy of being shall there 
not be added appreciation of the beauty of 

18 



THEEPHEBICOATH 




truth and the loveliness of service? Are there 
no garlands for the time scarred altars of duty 
and sacrifice? Are these to be as unknown 
gods, ignorantly worshiped? Shall we not 
give the youth opportunity to prize and seek 
the ancient privilege of serving, serving not 
one but all; serving not once but always? 

Given such opportunity, the city youth 
responsive as only youth can be, and with 
that foreshadowing seriousness that youth 
alone can assume, will press forward to dedi- 
cate themselves, swearing the old Ephebic 
Oath. 

And this the oath : 



19 



y\ 




Oatl) 

To bring no disgrace to the City 
by dishonest aft . . . To fight 
for the ideals and sacred things ', 
alone and with many . . . To 
desert no faltering comrade . . . 
To revere and obey the City 
laws and to incite respecl and 
reverence in those above us 
who are prone to annul or set 
them at naught . . . To strive 
unceasingly to quicken the pub- 
lic sense of civic duty . . . To 
transmit this City not less but 
better and more beautiful than 
it was transmitted to us . . . 




THEEPHEBICOATH 




And so these, the youth of the breeze- 
swept city will make it the City their fathers 
longed to know, the city many have dreamed 
of. This is politics. Those who make good 
their oath shall be called politicians, care- 
takers of the city, citizens who face the light. 




INFRA NUBEM 




INFRA NUBEM 




OWLED and penitent, like a Friar 
of Orders Gray, the city kneels in 
summer afternoons on the lower 
steps of the altar hills. Beneath 
the cassock of fog — a loosely woven serge — 
are hopes, prayers, truth and gentleness. But 
also under that robe of gray lurk cunning, 
greed, pride and pretense. Like the merci- 
ful mantle of charity, the fog covers our 
many sins. 

We who love the city, know that the gray 
covering stretched overhead, while it dims 
the brightness of the sun, is at once our 
greatest asset and our richest blessing. 

Would you know something of this mantle ? 
Then climb the hills; for the city infra nubem 
— beneath the fog — is also a city set upon 

25 



INFRANUBEM 




hills. From some of the upper slopes study 
this wondrously wrought fabric. Seen from 
above it is no longer gray and forbidding, but 
white as driven snow; a coverlet that throws 
back into sunlit skies the genial warmth of 
summer days. Watch it come into being far 
beyond the Heads. The very soul of the sea, 
it rises like a spirit from the breast of waters. 
Through the broad Gate in a full-flowing 
tide, it veils the water and the land. Seen 
from below, a level sweep and monotone of 
drab; seen from above, a ruffled sea of light 
and shade, a billowing cradle for the imperi- 
ous winds. Inland it spreads, and spreading, 
rarer grows, a thin gray line, to die at last — 
if but the eye could see — upon the burnished 
wheat fields of the San Joaquin. 

And the sun, as it stands a moment on the 
26 



INFRA NUBEM 




water's rim, ere yet it bids our western coast 
"good night", sees not a cowled and sad 
robed penitent, but a white-robed Youth, 
whose silken scarf waves loosely in the 
breeze. 

Lover of the City, is there no lesson in this 
two-fold asped: of the fog? Seen in the hum- 
drum sweep of daily life, in the rush and 
routine of the business day, your fellow citi- 
zens are sombre-hued and unattractive. Seen 
from a higher vantage ground, fling they not 
back the genial warmth of their humanity, 
the sunlight of their truer selves? 

And when the page of history shall be 
turned, and all sad monotones of self are 
dimmed in the stretch of time, the summed- 
up efforts of all will shine resplendent to 
those who view us from afar. Then the his- 

27 



INFRA NUBEM 




torian of our time and place will write the 
judgment: 

" They wrought well who aU un- 
known and in their several ways built 
this fair city round whose bright breast 
is wreathed a silken scarf of love with 
golden threads of truth and justice inter- 
twined. ' ' 




THALASSATHALASSA 






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: THALASSATHALASSA 





,OUBTLESS when Athens was at 
its best, in the period of the 
Antonines, the citizen conducted 
his visiting friend up the broad 
steps to the propylaea and thence to the Acro- 
polis, the upper city. Before the portals of 
the temple of Minerva, the city temple, they 
would pause; for in the distance the blue 
waters of the iEgean sparkled. We can in 
fancy hear them voice the thoughts which 
must have risen, quoting in that plastic lan- 
guage some poet's line, telling the majesty, 
the mystery and compelling beauty of the sea. 
Our mother tongue was then but the jargon 
of an uncouth tribe almost unknown and 
hopelessly barbaric: theirs, the classic speech 
of centuries. 

31 



THALAS5ATHALAS5A 




With the Attic sunshine lighting sea and 
land; and on every side evidence of peace, 
purity and permanence, it must have seemed 
to both Athenian and stranger that the sun 
shone more rarely there than elsewhere, that 
a prayer there whispered were worth a hun- 
dred offered at some other shrine. 

In our city we have no Acropolis though 
the hills rise as high and even higher. And 
we have no city temple with portals of rare 
beauty; but we have the sea, a greater sea 
than that from which the Greek ever drew 
strength and inspiration. And we lead the 
visiting stranger to Land's End — our Erich- 
theum — and whether the day be bright or 
overcast, we bid him look and look again, 
while the very rocks re-echo in rude English 

32 



THALASSATHALASSA 




! speech the call in Lowell's line, well worthy 
of the Greek, 

" Aye to the Age's drowsy blood 
Still shouts the inspiring sea." 

On Mile Rock stands a temple of the Light. 
Above foaming crest and placid tide, it looks 
indifferently on each, deaf to the wooing of 
Poseidon, sing he ever so softly or storm in 
jealous rage. 

Just beyond are the Seal Rocks. Unknown 
to Cabrillo, unseen by Drake, these hesperian 
outposts were first sighted from the sea, one 
August afternoon in 1775 by Juan de Ayala, 
master of the paquebot San Carlos, alias Toy son 
de Oro (Golden Fleece). The master had 
been commissioned to find the entrance to 
the Bay of San Francisco. 

33 



THALAS5ATHALASSA 




Since that lone vessel answering the summer 
wind, steered bravely through the Gate, how 
vast the company that has passed this way. j 
Eyes dry and moist have scanned each pin- j 
nacle and seam ; and many a traveller marked ; 
his journeying begun or his wandering ended 
as these Farallones in miniature came into 
view. 

Across the water Bonita juts out boldly. 
To the north a low-lying headland, Duxbury, 
is often mistaken for a dimmer headland 
farther west, the promontory of the King, 
la punta de los Reyes. Where else could be so 
fitting site for Temple of the Winds ? Here 
Sciron and Boreas, warders of the North, join 
hands and hold high revel. In vain the 
master of the southeast gale, cloaked Eurus, 
warns the invaders back. Tumultously they 

34 



THALASSATHALASSA 




meet and rout his cloudy squadrons hurrying 
from the south. For when the north wind 
blows, the spirit of a mighty land rides 
free and wild. No cloud nor shred of fog 
remains. Blue is the sky, the blue of steel, 
and clear the outlines of far hills, unseen 
before. And every tree bends low, making 
its obeisance, as boisterously the storm king 
passes. 

Once on a day in May, the north wind 
swept o'er cape and headland an hundred 
miles an hour or more. In the ensenada, 
this side the King's Point, anxious mariners 
held fast to extra anchors. Coaster, collier 
and liner were thankful for the shelter of that 
far reaching headland. 

Out beyond the roadstead one poor wayfarer 
of the deep, the ship Westgate, was standing 

35 



THALASSATHALASSA 



in as the gale began. Loyally and fairly she 
had borne her burden over the wide stretch 
between Australia and California. Like a 
lady of the sea, joyously caressing the waves [ 
she pressed on. The headlands loomed up 
and the harbor was ahead. An hour more 
and she had made the entrance. Then as if 
to meanly show his ruffian strength, old Sciron 
struck her full in the face. From that wrath 
in deadly fear she fled for very life a thousand 
miles southward. Ten days later very timidly 
she approached the Gate and this time entered 
in and made the longed-for harbor. 

" T/ia/assa, thalassaV* So shouted the Ten 
Thousand as once again their eyes beheld the 
sea. We whose eyes scan an ocean vastly 
greater, know that the sea, seemingly imper- 
ious, strong and free, is in its turn servant of the 

36 



THALASSATHALASSA 




blast and vassal of the storm. When the gale 
calls, crest flings itself on crest, striving in 
vain to outrun the whips of the wind. A 
greater ocean stirs it to restlessness; a sea 
above the sea disturbs its rest. Seldom the 
water sleeps and even in its calmest mood, 
moans as if some memory of punishment 
still rankled. 

Though it binds the Nations, bringing men 
together; and draws to its uncertain keeping 
the bold, the wayward and the free, the ocean 
is itself in thrall, an unwilling captive of the 
unseen but insistent air. 



THE5TRENCTH0F 

THEHILLS; 




THE5TRENCTH0F 

THEH1LU 





LTHOUGH we dwell near the 
water's edge, we are at heart and 
in essence a hill people. Our 
tribes are many. The trans- 
marini, name more restful than commuters, 
now outnumber the dwellers in Mesopotamia, 
even when these are reinforced by shekel scat- 
tering nomads, lightly called tourists. We are 
plainsmen only when we meet in the thor- 
oughfares of trade; and then we darken the 
level places like shadows of fast moving 
clouds. Yet the call of the hills is with us 
in our busiest hours and eager faces are lit by 
the soul's yearning for the freedom of the 
uplifted places, the sacred stillness of the 
heights. It matters not what origin we may 

41 



THBTRENCTH-OF 
THEHILLS; 




boast, or whether our sires were pioneers or 
pobladores, a common creed unites us. Seek- 
ing strength we lift our eyes to the encircling 
hills; and never does the generous Mother 
withhold it from her worn and weary child- 
ren. In temples built of unhewn stone we 
worship, and with one impulse bow before 
the wide-spread altars of cloud and sky and 
hill, asking a rebirth of our better selves. 

The warm southern sky-line is filled by the 
San Bruno hills. From the twin peaks that 
glow in sunrise light, and whose tops are lost 
in the sunset fog, south to the Santa Cruz, 
ridge after ridge stretches in crumpled folds. 
Southeast beyond the still waters of the Bay 
loom the crests of Hamilton's long range. 
Running north these culminate seemingly a 

42 



THE5TRENCTH0F 

THEH1LLS; 




stone's throw from the city but really thirty 
miles away in Diablo* s unyielding cone. A 
well-proportioned mountain it swells from 
the horizon and stands the most persistent 
feature of all our sky-line. Its name carries 
no suggestion of saintliness, yet on winter 
mornings the mountain wears a crown of 
white; and matchless in purity and grace, 
points us to heaven. 

In the north the hills of Sonoma and Marin 
hold the eye. Too often the full-flowing fog 
drifting inland, blots out the northern shore. 
Yet in the rifts, one may catch the gleam of 
sunlit peak, like fleeting smile upon a tear- 
stained face. Seen through filmy mist and 
frowning fog, the northern hills shine trans- 
figured. This is the rarest view of all. Those 

43 



THE5TRENCTH-0F 

THEHILLS: 




whose windows look unto the north, these 
see the promise of the light beyond the dim- 
ness of the day. 

St. Helena can be seen only on a clear day 
in winter, such a day as follows a long period 
of rain and southeast wind. In between, like 
lurking dimples, are many monticellos crowd- 
ed with vineyards and orchards. 

'Twixt north and south lies Tamalpais, 
friendliest of our hills. For as Israel loved 
one more than all his other sons, so we turn 
to this more than to all other peaks. Not the 
firstborn nor with the shaggy strength of the 
Sierra, it has yet a grace peculiarly its own. 
The summit shows above the fogs that wrap 
the mountain's breast and pour in living cas- 
cades round its feet. It guards the Gate, a 

44 



THE5TRENCTH0F 
THEH1LI 




stalwart sentinel. The clouds of winter hov- 
ering on its crest weave snowy wreaths that 
vanish with the sun's first ray. Deep in its 
canyons, the ever-living Sequoia make their 
home. Some were stripling trees when from 
the shores of Galilee came the message of 
goodwill to men. Now grown to stately 
strength they toss their branches high and 
court with proper modesty the all-searching 
scrutiny of the sun : or in the stillness of the 
night turn longing faces to the inquiring, 
constant stars. 

Those who know our hills well prize most 
the hours before sunrise, ere the slanting sun- 
beams have searched secluded depths. Then 
the wild flowers wet with dew hold up their 
heads and offer crystal stores as tribute to the 

45 



THE5TRENCTH0F 
THEHILLS 




morn. The air is sweet with the breath of 
bay and pine and lilac, and every canyon sheds 
abroad its fragrance. 

Nor are the evening hours without delight, 
when the retreating sun is followed by the 
enfolding night and darkness sweeps from 
human ken the monuments of day. Who 
then climbs the hills may look in quiet down 
upon the lesser constellations far outspread 
marking the homes of men. 

Our hills do not hedge us in: they free 
us, and allure to realms beyond the -hori- 
zon line. Indifferent to men and tides they 
stand steadfast. In their presence, under their 
shadows, we gain strength and inspiration. 
The burden of the day grows lighter, the 
minor cares slip from us even as Pilgrim's 

46 



THE5TRENCTH0F 

THEH1LLS 




pack fell from his shoulders. Worry, wound 
and the burn of righteous wrath give way to 

! gentleness and kindlier thoughts with ever- 

! widening charity for all. 




AUTHOR'S ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

It was my good fortune to know well Professor George 
Davidson, for thirty years in charge of the U. S. Coast 
and Geodetic Survey on the Pacific; and for several years 
Professor of Geography in the University of California. 
For more than fifty years he was a close student of Early 
Exploration on this Coast; and personally visited and 
identified most of the places mentioned in the narratives 
of the Early Explorers. 

He is my authority for statements made here. 



THEL1CHTS0VTSIDE 





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THEUCHTSOVTSIDE 





,HE lover of the City, climbing 
the hills about sunset on a day 
when the curtain of fog has been 
lifted, sees a stretch of water ex- 
tending westward in unbroken level save 
where the Islands of St. James, better known 
as the Farallones, rear their sharp heads. The 
glimmer of the sunlight upon the western 
waters is beautiful beyond expression ; and if 
it should happen that the moon rising full, 
mellows the yet ruddy gold of departing day, 
the watcher may turn from the scene, forced 
like that lover of Athens in days long gone, 
to cry out 

" Sue A beauty is akin to pain '* 
As the stars come out, sharp eyes can pick 
up beyond the Heads the steady beacon of 

51 



THELIGHTSOVTSIDE 




the Lightship, old No. 70; and farther still, 
the intermittent beam from the revolving 
lens on the Farallones. On the right Bonita 
flashes brightly; and marking the channel 
are many kindly lights. 

Three hundred thirty-three years ago, an 
English gentleman buccaneer, sharer of 
spoils with certain stay-at-homes influential 
at Court, turned a new furrow in this stretch, 
now so well guarded by light and buoy. 
Seeking a great river that should bear him 
to the Atlantic, Francis Drake drove the 
Golden Hind northward until the summer 
wind forced him back. Glad to get out of 
the wind, he rounded the point, now marked 
by a first-order light. Under the lee of 
Point Reyes he anchored, and named the 
white cliffs Nuova Albion. And so it hap- 

52 



THELICHTS'OVTSIDE 




pens that the first New England lies on the 
northern shore of this stretch of waters, the 
Gulf of the Farallones. 

Drake remained a month taking over the 
sovereignty of the country and repairing his 
stout little ship, the only one left of the 
fleet of three with which he started from 
Plymouth. Leaving on a day in June, he 
sailed southwestward across this ensenada, and 
sighting the Farallones, sent a boat's crew 
ashore. He named these rocky outposts "The 
Islands of St. James." There on the stony 
shelves, as well as on the beach he had just 
left, the accents of our mother tongue broke 
the stillness ere yet Shakespeare had learned 
his letters or our English bible had been trans- 
lated. Not without some measure of surprise 
do most visitors to this western rim of the 

53 



THEUCHTSOVTSIDE 




continent learn that twenty-eight years before 
Jamestown was settled, and forty-one years 
before the Pilgrim Fathers landed on Plym- 
outh Rock, this distant stretch of water, these 
wild winds and drifting fogs re-echoed in 
vigorous English, song, jest, oath and perhaps 
a low voiced prayer for help and safety. 

Drake, however, was not the first European 
to behold these grim islets. Thirty-seven 
years earlier, the intrepid Cabrillo, steering 
north, traversed la Bahia de los Pinos; and 
though he missed the islands going north, he 
marked them as he sped south before the 
gale. 

Twenty-four years after Drake, Viscaino 
came, seeking the cabo de Mendocino. He 
worked his course slowly northward, taking 
advantage of the light winds of the early Fall. 

54 



THEUGHTSOVTSIDE 




Then the weather changed even as it does 
now and the first recorded southeast storm 
began. So hard did it blow, the small vessels, 
the Capitana San Diego and the Fragata Los 
Tres Reyes labored heavily, as well they might. 
On January 7th (old style), 1603, these voy- 
agers passed what they called the " Puerto de 
San Francisco." And the narrative con- 
tinues: 

"The Fragata, concluding there was no 
necessity to seek a harbor, continued the 
voyage; and the Capitana, thinking they were 
in company, did not show a light, so in the 
morning they were not in sight of each other, 
and the General returned with the Capitana 
to the puerto de San Francisco.' ' 

Perhaps it was not easy to display a light 
during the storm. But on all the face of the 

55 



THEL1CHTS0VTSIDE 




waters there was not a single light; no friend- 
ly gleam to tell of human sympathy in the 
dark. 

We who look through the Gate, now so 
well lit, and mark the steady beam of the 
lightship, the flicker from the Farallones, the 
flash from Point Reyes and the kindly signals 
from Bonita and Mile Rock, may well do 
silent homage to the memory of those daring 
souls who sailed these seas, ere yet there was 
a City within the Gate, or welcoming lights 
outside. 




LABOCANAJ 




LABOCANA! 





ERUSALEM has a Golden Gate 
which is kept walled by the Turks 
lest the Giaour come some day 
and passing through, conquer and 
take possession of the City; for so does the 
old prophecy run. 

Our Golden Gate lies open, all unwalled, 
save where the hills come down to meet the 
waters. Through it believer and unbeliever 
pass unchallenged. Alike they enter and 
depart; and all bear testimony to the beauty 
of the scene. 

From the west one does not readily per- 
ceive the entrance to the Bay of San Francisco. 
The landfall is peculiar; and the Marin hills 
in friendly fashion lean over and seem to join 
the crests of the southern peninsula, while a 

59 



LABOCANM 




background of Contra Costa hills makes a 
continuous sky line. 

The early explorers failed to discover the 
Bay from without and never entered in. 
Spaniard and Englishman sailed by, ignorant 
of what was within; and their lookouts saw 
no sign. 

From the east the vision is one of unob- 
scured splendor. Seen from the Berkeley 
hills, la Bocana de la Ensenada de los Faral- 
lones, the Gate of the Gulf of the Farallones, 
deserves all the praise we lavish on it. For 
sixty-four years it has borne its present name. 
On his survey sheet in 1848, Fremont marked 
the word Chrysopylse, Gates of Gold. And 
yet four score years before the pathfinder 
came others who also were impressed by 
what thev saw. Portola, Crespi, and Cos- 

60 



LABOCANAi 




tanso sought a grand estero, the Port of Mon- 
terey. They came to it, but did not recognize 
it, and wandered on. The Bay of Monterey, 
as they saw it, did not meet the description 
given by Viscaino. Working north and 
drenched by the early rains, they made camp 
near where Montara now is. Two days 
travel would have brought them to the Gate. 
The Sergeant and some soldiers, sent to hunt, 
worked slowly eastward and saw from the high 
ground the southern portion of the inner bay. 
The General, the Captain and the pious Padre 
saw from the heights above the camp the 
outer reaches from Point Pedro to Bolinas. 
The expedition returned. Two years later 
another company toiled north, and on a day 
in March, Don Pedro Fages, Padre Crespi 
and twelve soldiers reached the eastern shore 

61 



LABOCANAI 




and pitched camp at el arroyo del Bosque, the 
Oakland estuary. Next day they climbed the 
hills near Berkeley; and clear and distinct, 
the Gate came in view, in line with Alcatraz 
and the far distant Farallon rocks known for 
more than two centuries. These, the first 
white men who ever saw the Golden Gate, 
called it not inaptly, La Bocana. 

Seen at the close of day, the tide throws 
back a shimmering flood of light. Prone 
are we then to liken it to gold; but 'tis scant 
and dubious honor to the glorious hues. More 
fitting did we call it Gate of Light. 

Between us and the lightship, the Heads, 
stern faced and sombre, frown upon a far 
flung line of scurrying foam. There the bar 
breaks, and sullen waters moan as they spend 
their strength. Nearing the cliffs, the ruffian 

62 



LABOCANAJ 




billows beat their foaming crests in vain against 
the unyielding face of Lobos. Joyously we 
watch their rout. Around Bonita's feet they 
swirl, snarling like angry tigers at the white 
tower that warns the careless seaman not to 
swing too near that treacherous front. 

Within the Gate the stately ships dread 
neither gale nor shoal. They sail to pleasant 
moorings through well-guarded depths. The 
anchors hold, there is no straining at the 
chains. The wayward wanderers of the sea 
are at home. 

So may that greater voyage end in 
peace for all who come and go this way. 



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